


Incident of the Invisible Ramrod

by Elfbert



Category: Rawhide (TV)
Genre: Invisibility, M/M, Rowdy is trouble, never a peaceful moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:18:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: Somehow, Rowdy becomes invisible.He takes full advantage of this fact.





	Incident of the Invisible Ramrod

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stephantom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephantom/gifts).



> @Stephantom 's Sims inspired this... WestFic helped the inspiration along.

Rowdy eased himself out of the saddle, squatted down and scooped up some water from the crystal clear stream.

His horse dipped his head down to drink beside him, and he gave its ear a stroke.

“Almost home now, Fox,” he murmured.

The herd must be within a few miles. Rowdy could see the dust being kicked up, and looked forward to getting back.

He’d been left behind in the last town to await news from a rancher they were supposed to be meeting up with. Rowdy had been bored, with nothing to do in town but visit the saloon and kick his heels around the place.

He was just straightening up, ready to climb back in the saddle, when something glinted and caught his eye.

He reached out into the stream and grabbed it. A silver disk, with some sort of a face - or it looked a bit like a face, anyway, on it. He turned it over. There were some symbols on the back, but nothing he could read.

There was also a small hoop on one edge, as if perhaps it had once been on a necklace or bridle.

He slid it into his pocket, deciding he’d ask Gil or Jesus or maybe even Pete, if they knew what it was.

He was looking forward to seeing everyone again. Especially Gil. They never had to spend much time apart these days, and he missed the other man. They had their arguments - Gil was, as Wishbone put it, stubborn as a rock. But Rowdy also knew that he, and only he, could put a smile back on the boss’s face. Even if that smile wasn’t necessarily seen by the others.

 

*********

 

Camp was quiet, most people milling around, or sitting and chatting, everyone waiting for Wishbone to announce their dinner was ready.

Gil was filling in his trail log for the day, worrying slightly that a few of the beeves were looking a bit skinny. He hoped they found some good grazing soon - everyone could do with a rest, and the cattle could do with getting fat back on their bones.

“Senor Boss! Senor Boss!”

Jesus sounded panicked, and Gil was on his feet and running toward the remuda in a flash.

“Senor Boss, look!”

Jesus grabbed his arm, hanging on tightly.

Rowdy’s horse was loping toward them - saddle, bridle and, most importantly, Rowdy, missing.

“What the…saddle my horse,” Gil almost shoved Jesus toward his saddle where it lay on the floor. “Pete! Jim, Joe, we're heading out. Spread out…”

He was cut off by a cheery greeting.

“Hi Boss! What’s up?”

Gil froze.

The horse skidded to a stop at the remuda line, and snorted.

There was a slight thump, as if someone had dismounted, and the rope jiggled by where the horse stood as if something were being tied to it.

“What the…” Gil breathed.

Jesus looked completely terrified.

“What?” Came Rowdy’s distinctive voice. From thin air.

Gil looked around. Trust Rowdy to manage to pull off some ridiculous prank.

“All right, all right,” he tucked his thumbs into his belt, trying to look unconcerned, glancing around. “Very funny. Now get out here.”

“I’m…right here,” the voice announced, from somewhere close by.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gil sighed. “You don’t show yourself I’m dockin’ you a days wage an’ putting you on drag, where I definitely can’t see you.”

“Boss…” the voice was very close now. And then he was prodded. A definite finger in the stomach. He jumped.

“What the…”

“Boss…this ain’t funny.”

Rowdy sounded genuinely worried now.

Gil reached out, tentatively. His hand hit soft cloth and warm, solid flesh. In what looked like empty space.

He could hear Jesus reciting what sounded like ever louder and more frantic prayers.

“You…” he reached out with the other hand, too, and tried to map out Rowdy’s body, finding chest, arms, and gently reaching up to brush his fingers over Rowdy’s face.

“Boss…this ain’t funny, really.”

He could feel Rowdy’s chin moving. But he could see clear across the camp.

Everyone had gathered around, all staring in silence.

“Now just a…” Wishbone marched up, shoved his hand out, and it was obvious when it hit something.

“Ow!” Rowdy complained.

“Well I ain’t…you…Mary mother of Jesus, it…you…” he also joined in prodding other bits of Rowdy.

“You’re invisible, Mister Rowdy!” Mushy exclaimed, smiling. “How’d you do it?”

Gil realised he still had his fingertips resting on Rowdy’s face, as said face turned to look at Mushy.

“How’d I…you’re really…you really can’t see me?”

“Not a darned thing,” Wishbone breathed.

“Sure can’t, Mister Rowdy,” Mushy smiled. “I didn’t know people could actually go invisible. Oh…” he suddenly sounded less excited. “You ain’t dead, are you? You ain’t a ghost?”

Jesus wailed in the background.

“I…don’t think so?” Rowdy sounded confused. “I just…I mean…I can see you. An’ I can see me.”

“I need a drink,” Quince announced.

For once Gil agreed, but instead he finally removed his hand, turned to see all the faces staring behind him, and sighed. “Well…ain’t nothin’ to see here…” He realised what he’d said and closed his eyes. “I mean, jus’…get one with your work. We’ll have to…” He turned back to where he thought Rowdy still was. “Have to…try an’…figure somethin’ out.”

 

Everyone wandered back to whatever they’d been doing, leaving Gil standing by the remuda, and a space where Rowdy may or may not have been.

“Can…I have a cup of coffee?” Rowdy asked, tentatively.

“Sure, sure,” Gil gave himself a shake. He was probably dreaming. It wasn’t like Rowdy didn’t haunt his dreams on a regular basis. Almost always causing some sort of trouble. He’d wake up in a bit, to find Rowdy snoring next to him, as usual, sleeping like a dead steer.

“How about, just…” he reached out again, hitting Rowdy’s side, groping his way to taking hold of Rowdy’s bicep, and walking into camp, holding on tight.

“I can see where I’m goin’,” Rowdy protested.

“Well…I just don’t want no one flattenin’ you. Here, sit.” Gil pushed him onto the box he’d been sitting on a few minutes before, when everything had seemed quite normal, for once. “I’ll get you coffee.”

“Oh…thanks?” Rowdy’s voice said, from somewhere lower down. Then Gil’s pencil bobbed around in mid air a bit.

Gil shook his head, squeezed his eyes closed and wiped a hand over his face.

When he opened his eyes he still couldn’t see Rowdy. But the pencil was scratching across the page.

“What are you…”

“Oh..” the pencil stopped. “Just writin’ ‘my ramrod’s turned in…vis…ib…al,” the pencil moved in time with the final misspelled word.

“Of course,” Gil said dryly, and fetched two cups of coffee.

It was very disconcerting to see the cup bobbing about once he handed it over. He couldn’t help but stare.

Neither could anyone else, apparently, as every time he looked around there were faces turned in their direction.

“Here,” Wishbone banged down two plates of stew. “I ‘ssume just bein’ as we can’t see you don’t mean you ain’t hungry?”

“Thanks, Wish.”

Gil could hear the smile in Rowdy’s voice, and the plate and spoon bobbed around, stew disappearing at the usual rate.

He ate his own food, trying not to stare.

Then he noticed something. “Hey…look.”

“What?”

“Your plate, look!” Gil pointed at the half-plate now visible.

“What?” Rowdy repeated.

“It’s…disappearing,” Gil leant forward, and it was as if the plate was being erased before his eyes.

“Well I can’t see, can I?” Rowdy asked, indignant. “I mean…I can see, I can see me, I can see you, I can see everythin’. It’s you who…” The spoon, which was also now half-invisible, waved in the air.

“Right.” Gil nodded.

“You…really can’t see me? You ain’t just…pulling my leg?” Rowdy said, in a low voice.

“Really can’t. You can…I dunno, test me?” He offered.

“How?” Rowdy asked.

“Well I dunno!”

There was silence for a moment, as the last of the stew disappeared both into Rowdy and into thin air, as far as Gil could tell.

The plate had completely disappeared by the time Rowdy had finished eating, and Gil put his own plate aside, chewing on the last of his biscuit.

“What are you doin’ now?” he asked, turning to check everyone else in the camp hadn’t started disappearing too.

He turned back only to be hit in the face by what certainly felt like a fist. He hadn’t even blinked, the blow was so surprising.

“Christ almighty!” His hand flew to his face, and he could taste hot, metallic blood and feel the wet warmth spreading from his nose, dripping off his top lip.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Rowdy’s panicked voice came. “I thought…sorry. Here.”

Gil automatically looked up, only to realise that whatever it seemed like Rowdy was offering him was also invisible.

He sighed and tugged his bandana from around his neck.

“I jus’ thought…you was having me on,” Rowdy said, apologetically. “And…you’re not, are you?”

Gil shook his head.

“There weren’t any way you thought you could check that din’t involve breakin’ my nose?” He grumbled, words muffled by the blood-soaked bandana.

“I…suppose I could’ve…waved…” Rowdy said, sounding genuinely quite sorry, and gently fingers stroked through his hair in a comforting and apologetic way. He immediately looked around, worried someone would see the intimate gesture, before realising he was being ridiculous. He couldn’t even see it.

Gil could just imagine the expression on his face, too. Like a calf abandoned by it’s mother. Big eyes, long lashes, and an air of confusion.

“What the…where’s my plate?” Wishbone looked around. Then stared at Gil. “And what’s the matter with you?”

“Rowdy,” Gil replied, as if that was all the explanation necessary of how anyone could start by eating dinner and end by stemming a nose bleed.

“That meant to explain the face or the plate?” Wishbone grouched.

“Both.” Gil glared at the approximate position Rowdy might have been in.

“Here.” A cup of coffee floated into his vision, and he realised he had actually been glaring at thin air, instead of just feeling like he was.

He grunted what might have been a thanks, took a mouthful and spat it out to clear the taste of blood from his tongue.

“Where’s my plate?” Wishbone stared at where there could be an invisible ramrod.

“Sorry, Wish. I mean, I can see it, right here.” There was a noise of tapping plate on wood. “But…”

“Well you jus’ better hope it re-appears or you’ll be…well I don’t know, but you be sure there’ll be consequences.” Wishbone jutted his chin out.

“You’d have to catch me first,” Rowdy’s voice came from somewhere to the left of them.

Gil sighed. Somehow, he thought, these things always seemed to happen on his drives.

 

It was difficult for Rowdy to move around the camp - people kept bumping into him. So Gil got their bed rolls out, and put them on the other side of the wagon.

“Look, just…sit here. I’ll bring you a coffee. That way no one’ll tread on you in the night, okay?” He said quietly.

There was silence.

“You there?”

“Oh, sorry. I nodded. Guess… Yeah, anyway, thanks.” Rowdy sounded a bit dejected now.

Gil fetched the coffee, and tried not to worry that he might never actually see Rowdy again. And he had no idea how they were going to explain this to anyone - he was slightly amazed that the other drovers seem to have taken it in their stride. Although maybe they all thought they were dreaming, too.

 

He sat down, leaning back on the wagon wheel.

He held the other mug up, and waited for invisible hands to take it from him. It was very unnerving, feeling the weight be taken, watching the cup float through the air.

But at least it gave him some idea of where Rowdy was.

He tried to just act normal. Talking about what had happened with the herd since they left Rowdy in town.

 

“Mushy!” Wishbone turned, scowling.

“Yes Mister Wishbone, Sir,” Mushy looked up from his washing bowl.

“Why’d you leave this plate out?” Wishbone demanded.

“I didn’t leave no…Oh. Well, I sure didn’t mean to, Mister Wishbone. I just didn’t see it.”

Pete looked up. “Didn’t… hey Wish,” Pete wandered over and looked at the wiped-clean plate. “That’s Rowdy’s, ain’t it? I mean, no one else tries to lick the enamel off like that.”

Wishbone glanced down at the plate he held, and the position he picked it up from.

“Reckon you’re right,” he nodded. “So…if this come back, maybe…”

“Well, I s’pose it’s a good sign, ain’t it?” Pete said, looking a little worried.

“You’re mighty well told,” Wishbone answered, not sounding anything like as confident as usual.

Both of them found they were staring at the spot where their Trail Boss was sitting, apparently having a conversation with thin air.

 

“So, you got no idea when it even happened?” Gil asked.

A hand landed on his thigh, making him jump.

“No idea at all. Honest, I didn’t do anything.”

The hand slid up toward his groin. He could just about make out the wrinkles on his chaps as the gentle pressure slid over them.

“Rowdy,” he growled, very quietly.

The hand came to rest, and delicate fingers traced the edge of the leather where it skirted his crotch.

“Ain’t like no one can see me.”

He could hear the smile in Rowdy’s tone.

“They can see me though!” He protested in a whisper.

“Well you better keep dead still an’ dead quiet then.”

And then there was an honest-to-God giggle.

Gil reached for a cheroot with a hand that only shook very slightly.

 

It was completely bizarre to feel fingers slipping in between the buttons on his shirt. To watch the lowest one be gently opened. There was an odd gentleness to the exploration, fingertips tickling through the hairs on his stomach, dipping into his navel.

He heard Rowdy shifting around.

“What’re you doin’? I don’t wanna burn you.” He reached back to knock the ash off his cheroot behind the wagon wheel, just to make sure.

“Well…may as well make the best of it, I figure?”

An arm landed across his thighs, meaning…he guessed that Rowdy was now lying down. He very slowly moved his hand around, finding the mane of hair alarmingly close to his groin.

“Don’t even…” he began.

“Oh, quit worryin’.” A finger traced down his fly, bumping over each button.

Gil swallowed, trying to keep some semblance of self control, just in case anyone was watching.

A scuff of a boot sounded nearby and he slammed his hat onto his lap.

“Boss? Rowdy? You want the bottom of the pot?”

Wishbone stood about eight feet away, holding the coffee pot up, looking worriedly at the ground, as if he was worried he might tread on Rowdy like a bug.

“No,” Gil’s voice squeaked a little. He cleared his throat. “No. Thanks. An' I think Rowdy’s asleep.” He gestured to the bedroll beside his, which he knew was empty.

“Probably had kinda a hard day,” Wishbone said, sounding almost sympathetic.

Gil felt a very distinct squeeze at the phrase ‘hard day’.

“Yeah, guess so,” he tried to smile reassuringly.

“Guess we just have to hope he’ll be back large as life tomorrow,” Wishbone said.

“Here’s hopin’,” Gil nodded, hoping Wishbone would just leave, as each button of his fly was being undone beneath his hat, and he was powerless to act.

“So, he ain’t got a clue as to why it’s happened?”

Wishbone seemed like he was settling in for a chat, now cradling the coffee pot in a loose embrace.

“No, no, no idea, so he says.” Gil had to keep every shred of self control as that got a very distinct squeeze by a hand which had somehow now found its way inside his pants, and found the…rather large, if he flattered himself…effect its previous activities had been having on him.

“Maybe’s got a curse on him, Jesus says,” Wishbone said, seriously.

“Oh, well, you know Rowdy,” Gil smiled. “Probably did somethin’ to deserve it.”

He managed to cover up the huge jump he gave in response to the very tight squeeze brought on by that comment by pretending to stretch his arms up over his head.

“Anyway, might jus’ turn in myself,” he said, and did a fake yawn. “Try an’ figure it come mornin’.”

“Sleep well then,” Wish nodded. “Seems like you’ll need it.”

Gil gave Wishbone a little wave, to avoid having to speak again as fingers danced all over his cock in a maddening tickle.

“Yeah, I am pretty tired,” came a very quiet voice from somewhere near his hip. “Might jus’ get some shut-eye myself.”

“You…” he swallowed, realising he had to whisper. “You what?” he ground out.

The hand left him, and a ridiculously theatrical yawn sounded.

“Mm, is mighty tirin’ being invisible.”

Gil almost whimpered - except he wouldn’t give Rowdy the satisfaction.

Even just fumbling to do up his fly again made him bite his lip in frustration, every brush of his own fingers sending torturous shivers of pleasure through him.

“You are…” he tried to form some sort of sentence.

“Oh, well,” a soft mumble came from somewhere in the vicinity of Rowdy’s blankets. “You know Gil Favor, prob’ly did somethin’ t’ deserve it.”

 

He shuffled down, trying to think about anything but his achingly hard cock, or the invisible body beside him.

Of course, he could think of nothing else.

After a few minutes, though, a hand did sneak back onto his side, slipping under his untucked shirt and resting there, warm and solid and very real.

He really hoped that by morning all of this would be a horrible, frustrating, dream.

 

*************

Wishbone made no attempt to be quiet in the mornings - Gil had long known and accepted that. And today, he also appreciated it.

At some point during the night he had been completely ensnared by Rowdy - a leg had slid between his own, one arm was now wrapped around him under his shirt, hand resting on his chest, the other hand was tickling his ear and neck annoyingly.

But as he tried to untangle himself before trying to explain to anyone why half his clothing had been wrecked in the night he realised something.

“Hey - hey!” He rolled over, and looked at the most beautiful sight he had ever seen - Rowdy, hair sticking in all directions, drool hanging out of his wide-open mouth, face squashed against the underside of his saddle.

Rowdy gave a snort and woke up.

“You’re back! I mean, I can see you!”

“Huh?”

Gil quickly tucked his shirt back in, and ran a hand through his own hair. “I can see you again, you ain’t…” he waved a hand. “Gone. You’re right here.” He gave Rowdy a firm poke in the arm, to prove his point.

Then a voice made him look up.

“Pete…” Wishbone looked extremely worried. “Pete…you…uh…you seen Mister Favor this mornin’?”

Gil looked down at himself. He was kneeling on his bedroll, Rowdy still blinking like a drunken drover who’d been sucker punched next to him, and both of them very much visible.

“Wish…I’m right here,” he said.

The look on Wishbone’s face told him all he needed to know.

He sighed. “You can’t see me, can you?”

Wishbone looked somewhere to the left of him. “Uh…no Boss, not a darned thing of you.”

Gil looked at Rowdy, who stared back at him, looking like a skunk who’d just surprised itself with it’s own stink.

Pete appeared, and looked just as confused as Wishbone.

“He go somewhere?” Pete asked.

“Oh, no, see…he’s jus’ right there. Same as Rowdy is,” Wishbone sounded weary.

Gil felt like he ought to say something. “Hi…Pete.”

Pete’s eyes opened a bit wider.

“Well,” Pete mused. “Let’s say…last night, that there dining plate disappeared when Rowdy held onto it, right?”

Wishbone nodded. Gil just stared.

“An’ then…well, it come back, maybe…within the hour, right?”

Wishbone nodded again.

“So…” Pete held his hand up and counted off a few fingers. “Say…Rowdy takes ‘bout…three minutes, t’eat dinner, if he ain’t in a rush. An’ the plate come back…say after maybe ten times as long as he had it in his hand, see?”

Wishbone frowned, but nodded.

“Reckon we’ll be seein’ the Boss in about…. two an’ a half days, then. That’s if Rowdy can keep his hands to hisself from now on,” Pete smiled very widely. Then dodged the clod of mud that flew at his head out of nowhere.

“I am right here y’know, Pete,” Gil growled.

“Oh, I know.” Pete gave a lazy grin. “But maybe this is the time - bein’ invisible an’ all - that we oughtta tell you that most of the time, you two ain’t as invisible as you think. And ain’t a single one of this crew who minds. Way we figure it, you’re both old ‘nough and ugly ‘nough to do what you want together.”

“Hey!” Rowdy sat up. “I ain’t old or ugly!”

Gil took advantage of being able to see Rowdy again and cuffed him around the head.

“Ow!” Rowdy yelped.

“What’re you doin’ to that boy?” Wishbone advanced on the two apparently empty bedrolls.

“Didn’t lay a finger on him, Wish,” Gil assured. “He just got his massive head stuck in his hat.”

Rowdy glared at him. Gil smiled as sweetly as he could back.

 

Breakfast was awkward. Every time Gil took a sip of coffee Wishbone would grab the mug back off him and put it back on the table.

Although he loved drinking coffee, it was also part of his morning routine to gently cradled the mug, feeling both the bitter brew and the comforting warmth slide through him.

“I ain’t havin’ you two disappearin’ no more of my equipment,” Wishbone had lectured to a space a few inches over Gil’s right shoulder. “An’ if you do pass this on by touch, you jus’ don’t touch nothin’ you don’t need to of mine.”

It was also very strange to experience moving around the camp where he could see everyone, but they couldn’t see him. No one moved out of his way, no one looked at him as he passed by. There were no furtive glances in his direction of drovers trying to assess if he was about to set them to work for the day. It reminded him of when he was just a lanky kid, signing on to his first drive. The only time he got any attention then was by the boss or ramrod shouting at him.

 

He stood, although he wasn’t sure why, and cleared his throat.

“Right…”

People did look. Most of them not directly at him. That was odd, too. He wondered if some of them were a bit deaf.

Quince was looking in completely the wrong direction altogether.

“So, as you…know, we got a…situation.”

There were various mumbles of agreement.

“So, way I figure it…”

Rowdy wandered around to stand in front of him, which was annoying to say the least.

“I can’t give no signals. So Pete’ll ride up at point. Quince, you’re ramrod, but…listen to Rowdy. So far…”

Rowdy silently dropped to his knees, eyes wide and innocent, which in Gil’s experience only meant one thing. He either already had done, or was about to do, something for which he should be arrested.

“So far, it don’t seem to effect the horses, so you shouldn’t have no problem seeing where we’re at.”

Most of them sort of seemed to be looking more directly at him now. Just as Rowdy’s hand reached out and tugged his belt loose.

“So…” He batted Rowdy’s hand away. “So…” He’d completely lost track of what he was going to say.

Rowdy’s smile increased in size. And his pants were being undone, one button at a time.

“Um…well, we’ll just…” He pushed Rowdy away by a hand to the forehead.

“We’ll just stay outta trouble,” He gave Rowdy a glare, hoping his meaning was clear. “‘Cause if we had a fall, you wouldn’t know it.”

In one tug, his pants were around his thighs. He swallowed down a small squeak of surprise. And gave Rowdy a very stern silent glare.

Rowdy smiled sweetly.

“Obviously, we want to try an’…” he attempted to take a step back as Rowdy’s hands tugged on his long johns.

Whilst in his head he knew the men couldn’t see them - there was no flicker of realisation that he was standing there giving a speech whilst his ramrod knelt at his feet slowly undressing him, anyway - it certainly felt extremely bizarre.

“…Find out how comes this is all happenin’. So if we…well…”

Rowdy dragged his long johns down, leaving him standing, surrounded by eighteen men, with his cock out. He waved a finger at Rowdy which very much meant ‘don’t you dare’.

Rowdy licked his lips in the most ridiculously elaborate way possible. It seemed he was most definitely going to dare.

Gil closed his eyes. “If we have any idea then we’ll jus’ try an maybe get back an’ sort it all out.” He got out in one long rush of words.

Rowdy sucked Gil’s entire length into his mouth in one go.

Gil stuffed his fist into his mouth and bit his knuckles. All he could think of was the heat, the soft wetness, and how he was going to kill Rowdy as soon as possible.

“Err…there…anythin’ else, Boss?” Quince asked, after the silence had gone on long enough for Rowdy to set up a steady rhythm of sucking and bobbing his head.

“No! Go!” Gil was fairly sure that it just sounded like he was sobbing now, after those one syllable squeaks.

Most of the drovers began delivering their plates and cups back to the chuck wagon and stashing away their bedrolls.

Pete wandered over to him, followed by Wishbone, who was nosey as ever.

“So, figure we’ll move on slow up this first bit,” Pete said, gesturing vaguely to the trail ahead of them.

Gil nodded as Rowdy’s tongue did obscene things to the tip of his cock, whilst his hand pumped up and down the shaft.

“Boss?” Pete looked vaguely in his direction.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Sure thing. What…” Rowdy’s mouth plunged down his entire length again. “Ever you think is best.” He got out all in one breath.

“You feelin’ okay?” Wishbone butted in. “Only you don’t sound so good.”

He glared downwards. Rowdy had the audacity to wink back at him.

“Fine, Wish,” he forced his voice to sound lower, in the hope it would be more normal.

“Only if you ain’t, you should say, so…You too Rowdy,” Wishbone looked around.

Gil slid his hand into Rowdy’s thick hair, with every intention of pushing him away. Except…it just felt too good. And after being left wanting the night before…

“Oh, yeah, he’s jus’ fine too. ‘Part from the obvious,” he managed to say, every muscle in his body feeling like it was about to burst with the strain of staying still.

Rowdy seemed to double his efforts, and Gil could only squeeze his eyes shut, because the very last thing he wanted to see at that moment was Wishbone and Pete gazing vaguely in his direction.

Rowdy’s hands gripped into his butt cheeks, pulling him almost off balance, and he glanced down, to see Rowdy’s wide green eyes staring up at him, and, somehow, even with a mouth full of cock, Rowdy was smiling.

Gil came hard, shoving the end of his bandana into his mouth and biting down on it to try to prevent any noise escaping. He couldn’t even pant, Pete and Wishbone were standing too close to him.

“Right then,” Pete nodded. “We’ll head ‘em up an’ move ‘em out.”

He started to walk, immediately kicking Rowdy’s feet.

“Sorry Rowdy,” he smirked. “Hope I din’t disturb you.”

Gil was sure that, if he weren’t already invisible, he’d be desperate for the ground to open up and swallow him.

Then he glanced down to see Rowdy’s mortified expression as he dragged his hand across his lips. And decided not to think about anything swallowing anything for a good long while.

 

*****************

 

He tried to express his extreme displeasure with Rowdy by not talking to him.

Rowdy, however, either didn’t notice or just ignored it. He supposed that was what he got for never making small-talk anyway.

“So,” Rowdy said. “I been thinkin’.”

“S’pose there was always gonna be a first time,” Gil observed.

Rowdy frowned. “Don’t be like that. Ain’t like you didn’t enjoy it. It’s me who’s still…” He gestured vaguely to his crotch.

“And who’s fault is that?”

Rowdy waved a hand at him. “Anyway, look, I found this, yesterday, an’…well, kinda forgot, until now.”

He passed over the small silver disc.

“And I just thought…well, this whole thing started, maybe, round about then?”

Gil stared at him.

“An’ you forgot this…until now?”

Rowdy smiled and shrugged. “Well…sorta? I forgot it last night, anyhow.”

 

They rode back to the stream together, Gil only slightly worried that someone would see their horses and attempt to grab them.

Rowdy led him to the spot where he’d found the silver charm and gestured vaguely. “In there. What should I…do?”

“Oh, well,” Gil tipped his hat back on his head. “I mean, ’n my experience of breakin’ magic spells, I’m pretty sure you should get naked, dance about, an’ apologise to whatever magic bein’ you offended, apologise to your boss whose nose you bust, then kiss th’Earth, an’ probably offer to ride drag for a week, buy your boss dinner in the next town, finish that off with quite a few drinks, an’ then give him a night t’remember in a nice hotel.”

Rowdy’s face moved through an interesting range of expressions, from studious interest to slight outrage as he listened.

“Well…I guess I could apologise,” he finally said.

Gil smiled.

“Sorry…er…whoever. I didn’t mean to take it…” he dropped the silver item back into the water with a plop. “I were just…interested?”

Gil stopped smiling. He’d forgotten he’d suggested two different apologies.

He waited. Nothing happened.

“So…how do we know if it worked?” Rowdy asked Gil.

Gil shrugged. “S’pose we don’t. ’Til we get back to the herd. Maybe we should just…wait a bit. In case.”

Rowdy glanced around. It was quite a pretty spot, he supposed.

“I can…probably think of a way to pass time,” Gil said, smiling widely and cracking his knuckles.

“Yeah?” Rowdy’s grin was back, and he advanced on Gil, undoing his belt.

“Yeah. You can practice a nice little speech to explain to Pete an’ the rest exactly how you dragged me into this mess.”

Rowdy’s face fell.

Gil grabbed him by the vest and dragged him into a kiss.

Rowdy smiled again. “Sorry,” he said when they broke apart. “For breakin’ your nose. An’ sorry for what I said this mornin’. You ain’t ugly.”

Gil narrowed his eyes. But smiled.


End file.
